


Doubt the Stars are Fire

by em_gray



Series: Star Crossed Verse [4]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demisexual Percy Newton, Dubious Science, Established Relationship, Fluff, GUESS WHAT IT'S THE STAR CROSSED SEQUEL, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Imperialism, M/M, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Telepathic Bond, Wakes & Funerals, just two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray
Summary: Percy Newton is quite content with his life as it is now that he and his soulmate, Henry "Monty" Montague, former Crown Prince, are finally happily living together at the Crown and Cleaver. Even with the threat of the Empire hanging over their heads, the still mysterious new stardust in their veins, and the occasional struggle as they navigate their new relationship together, Percy's happier than he's ever been.Until during one mission an impulsive decision sets in motion a chain of events, and everything changes.
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: Star Crossed Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773700
Comments: 17
Kudos: 17





	1. The Funeral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldenthunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/gifts).



> HI!!!! Here we are again! As promised, here's the sequel to Star Crossed! It's many months in preparation and I really hope you'll like it!!

Attending my own soulmate's funeral was not something I ever thought I'd be doing. Especially not with the soulmate in question cracking jokes about it in my head.

_That is a_ horrendous _picture_ , Monty says. _It’s at least_ _over a year old. And I have a pimple in it! You can’t see it, because it’s covered up, obviously, but still,_ I _know it’s there._ He sighs theatrically. _This is psychological warfare._

I snort.  _ I think you look nice. _

_ Yeah, I look fantastic for a dead man. _

I shake my head with a smile and lean forward, resting my elbows on the balustrade. I’m overviewing the Main Square, which is a sea of little black dots crowded together, their attention unwavering on the stage in the middle. It’s a little bit of a déjà-vu—except last time I was here, I was standing beside the thrones, disguised as an imperial guard, and, it must be said, everyone was in a significantly better mood.

Until I set off a smoke bomb and got away with the Crown Prince, obviously.

I let my eyes wander over all the heads, trying to find one in particular. Another contrast with last time is that I had Monty by my side (though that’s not exactly something I appreciated back then). I sigh, fold my arms together, and rest my chin on them.  _ I can’t see you from up here. _

_ I’m a little to the left of the stage, a few rows back. _

I follow his directions. I’m about to say that I still can’t spot him, when one figure turns around and pushes back his hood, revealing some golden and blue hair. He looks in my general direction—he can’t see me, as I’m concealed by the invisibility shields of the Eleftheria behind me—and though it’s difficult to tell from such a distance, I think he winks.

I roll my eyes with a fond smile.

It’s hard to believe it’s been four months since that fateful day of the Anniversary. It feels like a lifetime. The first month has been the most eventful of my entire life—and that’s saying something, as living at the Crown and Cleaver is not exactly a summer vacation. Even when things quieted down a little bit after our return from the Heart, the Empire never rests, so neither can the rebellion.

But it’s been alright—better than ever, really, now that I finally have my soulmate by my side for it all. Before, it would’ve sounded like the craziest thing imaginable; that I’d now be madly in love with the former Crown Prince, and that he’d be on our side—and that together, we’d have foiled the Empire’s latest plan at total galactic rule, and even collapsed a star in the process. But it happened, and all it took was a soulbond.

It was difficult, in the beginning, but now not a day goes by that I’m not endlessly grateful to the universe for our bond. Hardships and all—I wouldn’t trade a lifetime with Monty’s heart Linked to mine for anything.

“ _ Attention, everyone. The Emperor is scheduled to make his appearance in five minutes _ .”

I look to the buildings across the Square, searching the silhouette behind one of the windows. It’s unobtrusive—if I didn’t know exactly where Sim would be lurking from the extensive recon missions we’d done to prepare for today, it’d be impossible for me to spot her.

“ _ Copy that. His security team is doing the final preparations _ ,” Jeanne—who’s hiding out backstage—says.

Today’s mission has been meticulously planned, several weeks in anticipation, ever since the funeral was announced. I’d joked that all this effort was pointless because it wasn’t that hard to infiltrate the Imperial Guard and sabotage the whole event. That had gotten me several cold glares (and a snort from Monty).

The worst part is that we’re not even sabotaging anything today.

“ _ Remind me what we’re looking for? _ ” Esmee asks.

“ _ It’ll be presented with plenty of commotion, don’t worry _ ,” Sim replies.

“ _ Dramatic _ ,” Felicity’s voice sounds. “ _ Feels appropriate for your funeral, Monty _ .”

I feel the stab of annoyance going through Monty, as he can’t retort out loud because he’s too close to the stage.  _ Tell my sister to shut her mouth. _

“I am not telling her that,” I say out loud, which has about the same effect but paints me as the nicer person here.

This is confirmed when I hear Felicity’s indignant scoff. “ _ Tell me  _ what _ , Monty? _ ” I can feel Monty’s chewing on a response, but he’s not fast enough, as she continues, “ _ Actually, this is much more pleasant. Have I mentioned that the first month you were at the Crown and Cleaver was the nicest of my entire life? _ ”

_ Yes _ , Monty says,  _ several times, and as I’ve said every time before, that sentiment is shared. _

I do take the liberty of passing on that message.

“ _ Not sure you wanna get involved in this, Percy _ ,” Esmee says, amused.

“Why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do.” I mumble that last part, half hoping they won’t catch it and half hoping they will.

“ _ We’ve been over this _ ,” Sim’s tired voice comes. “ _ This is the best course of action. _ ”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, I know,” I say.

“ _ There _ ,” Felicity interrupts.

The Emperor takes the stage. I notice it before I see him—by the way Monty tenses, our combined heartbeats speeding up, the way he digs his nails into his palms.

I take my own hand and squeeze it.

The crowd quiets down respectfully. Cameras and microphones adjust themselves as the Emperor comes to stand behind the rostrum, the large screens on both sides of the stage shifting from displaying Monty’s picture to showing live footage of Henri Montague Senior as he adjusts his vest and takes in the audience. His expression is neutral, slightly frowning as always.

Behind him, the Empress sits down on her throne, baby on her arm. To her credit, she looks devastated. She’s doing her best to stay straight-faced, but on the screens, behind her husband, I see tears in her eyes. She has her lips firmly pressed together.

_ Who knew Mother was such a good actress _ , Monty says.

That surprises me.  _ You think she’s acting the part? _

_ What else? _

_ Maybe…your father didn’t tell her the truth. _

Monty scoffs.  _ She never cared particularly much when I was still around. She has to be acting it, regardless of whether she knows. _

“A great tragedy has befallen the Empire,” the Emperor starts. Amplified by the speakers, his voice booms over the Square.

Monty tenses up again.

“For years, the Crown and Cleaver has tormented the galaxy. All over the Empire, they have tried—and, regrettably, sometimes succeeded—to destroy what we spend decades building. Since the dawn of this civilization, they have deceived, plundered, and sabotaged. We have always known that they are thieves and murderers. But as of now…they also have royal blood on their hands.”

_ It’s true _ , Monty says earnestly.  _ Ever since you borrowed me that book and it gave me a papercut. _

“You all know that a few months ago, they kidnapped my son. Not long ago, we found out that they have taken his life.”

Gasps travel through the audience. I can almost feel Monty rolling his eyes.  _ They can’t show up to a funeral and act surprised when someone’s dead _ , he says.

_ I’d find your death pretty shocking, no matter the circumstances _ , I reply.

Monty doesn’t respond to that.

I bite my lip. My eyes wander to the casket, set up in the middle of the stage. It’s made from dark wood, adorned with gold details, and a single wreath of white chrysanths lies on top. Obituaries of Monty everywhere.

I know this thing is a sham, but that doesn’t stop it from being incredibly upsetting.

“I thought that our enemy would have a shred of decency,” the Emperor continues. “A  _ shadow _ of a sense of honor. Even through all their crimes, I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.” Another pause. “That was my mistake. And my son’s death is my burden to bear.”

_ He literally tried to have me killed! _ Monty yells.

“But let this be known. The Crown and Cleaver has crossed the line. I have been mild in the past. But from this day forward, we are at war.”

“ _ That was to be expected _ ,” Jeanne says through my earpiece.

“ _ Doesn’t make it any better _ ,” Sim replies, grim.

“Around the time that they…killed my son,” he begins. God, is he  _ actually _ going to pretend he’s affected by this? “...They also destroyed our newest technological advancement, our chance at renewable energy. But the Empire is resilient.”

The newest technological advancement obviously being an indirect weapon of mass destruction, that they’d have used to spread even more terror across the galaxy, and that Monty and I almost died destroying.

“Our finest minds have been working years on this technology. It’s taken extensive studies, innumerable tests, and billions of pounds, but finally, it is near completion. And when it is, it will be the key to destroying the Crown and Cleaver at last.” He pauses. “Therefore I dedicate this to my son Henry. I know it’s what he would’ve wanted, for the Empire that was destined to be his, but that now can never be.”

_ Darling, you’re starting to feel rather angry. _

_ And you’re not?! _ I realize I’ve been clutching the banister too tightly. I take a deep breath to calm myself, then rest my chin on my arms again.  _ He’s literally using your death as an excuse to wipe us rebels off the map. He’s using  _ your funeral  _ as his latest show of force. Doesn’t that make you mad? _

He doesn’t reply right away, and I start to feel bad. If Monty can stay calm through this, then who am I to get emotional?

I soften.  _ I just…wish there was something we could do. _

Monty wavers.  _ Maybe there is. _

_ Hm? _

We’re interrupted as the image on the big screens suddenly changes. I see the cameras tilting upward, spotlights turning, as they are aimed at something covered in a black sheet. It’s large, somewhat rectangular, and has everyone’s unanimous attention as it slowly descends toward the stage.

“ _ Everyone, attention. This is what we’re here for. _ ”

My heart leaps. I reach into my tattoo for the pair of binoculars I brought along for this mission.

“ _ What is that? _ ” Esmee asks.

The object holds still a few feet above the stage, clearly in view. The sheet rustles, then everything falls still.

“Behold,” the Emperor says. “Our prototype of…the Eclipse.”

The sheet is pulled off—dramatically slow, it falls down, revealing…a box. Its frame is in dark metal, and its walls are made of red glass. It’s about the size of a container, clinically spotless, and I’m not sure if it’s so bright because there are lamps on the inside or because the glass refracts the sunlight in the most blinding way.

“ _ That doesn’t look good _ ,” Esmee says.

_ Hey. _

“We have improved existing technology, and taken steps no one has dared to dream of. What one day sounded like science fiction, we have made a reality. And as soon as it is finalized, no one will stand in our way to bring peace and prosperity to the entire galaxy.”

_ Hey, Percy. Darling. _

_ Hm? _

_ You know what would be hilarious? _

_ What would be? _

_ If I crashed the party right now. _

I almost choke.  _ What?! _

_ You know. If I climbed onto the stage right now and told people I’m not actually dead. _

I scoff in disbelief.  _ That’s a  _ terrible  _ idea. _

_ Yeah, yeah, I know. _ He’s silent for a while, but I can feel the giddiness curling through him, can almost see the wicked grin on his face.  _ But it  _ would  _ put a huge dent in the Empire’s credibility, wouldn’t it? And, _ he adds before I can interrupt,  _ mess up this whole demonstration he has planned here. Plus maybe we could take a closer look at the device while we’re there. _

I suppress a sigh in exasperation.  _ It’s not part of the plan. _

_ I know, I know. I’m only speaking in hypotheticals. _ Another pause.  _ So, hypothetically, how would we do it? _

_ Hypothetically, we would be smart enough not to, because we’d know the others would skin us alive—if the Empire doesn’t get us first. _

_ No, Perce, this is a hypothetical situation in which we are  _ not  _ smart enough to refrain. Come on, work with me here. _

_ This is how you talked me into going to the Mines. _

_ But we got what we came there for, didn’t we? _

_ Monty… _

_ So I’m thinking—hypothetically—first of all, we have to clear the stage. Something possibly dangerous to get my parents out of there, and then I have to climb on before the audience has left. You wouldn’t happen to have any smoke bombs from last time leftover in the Eleftheria, would you? _

I rest my face in my hands.  _ Hypothetically, I would _ , I admit reluctantly.

_ Ah, see? So that just leaves an exit strategy. I was thinking– _

_ What are you even trying to get out of this? _

He thinks about it for a bit.  _ Petty revenge? _ he then offers.

I bite my lip.  _ This could get dangerous. _

_ Almost-dying kinda dangerous, or dishes-duty-for-a-year kinda dangerous? _

_ Both, without a doubt. _

He’s silent again for a while, knowing that the flame has been lit. I go over it in my head for a moment. Really, it wouldn’t even be that much of a stretch. A distraction, a few words from Monty, and a quick getaway. That’s all it would take, and the Empire would have a PR nightmare on their hands.

_ Beats staking out, doesn’t it? _ Monty says.

_ God fucking damn it _ , I mutter, and Monty cheers internally.  _ Alright. But you don’t move until I give you the word, got it? _

He’s grinning.  _ I knew I could count on you, darling. _

“...and soon, we’ll be able to rid the galaxy of not only the Crown and Cleaver, but of every force that seeks to harm the Empire.”

_ We’ll see about that _ , I think.

I climb back aboard the Eleftheria—I’m thankful for the invisibility shields, otherwise, the others would catch on right away—and start searching through the storage room.  _ I have got to organize this place sometime _ , I say.

_ I’ll remind you, darling _ , Monty says.

I push aside a crate so I can reach the shelves.  _ What’s going on out there? _

_ They’re setting everything up for a demonstration. _

_ Okay, we’ll wait until that’s over, and then move _ .

_ Copy that, darling. _

In a far corner, stashed away so far that I almost topple a pile of cardboard boxes trying to reach it, lies a single smoke bomb. I smile, grab it, and trip over a pile of clothes on my way out. Climbing back to the ship’s roof consists of Monty asking why he suddenly felt a stab of pain in his temple and then proceeding to make fun of me when I tell him what happened.

I hoist myself out of the latch and look around. The Emperor is still in the same spot, looking back as several people in lab coats climb onto scaffolds and prepare the box for the demonstration.

The wind has pulled a few strands of hair out of my ponytail and I push them out of my face. Okay. I turn the device around in my hand, frowning at the buttons and trying to remember how I made it work last time. I press one and the display lights up.  _ Success _ . There was a way to time these things. I just have to enter the code, activate the timer, set a countdown—ugh, was this thing in minutes or hours? The sunlight is making the display difficult to read. I squint, lifting the device closer to my face, pressing a button–

The device chimes.

My heart stops.

_ Uh, Monty? _

_ Yeah? _

_ Remember how we agreed to wait until after the demonstration? _

_ Yes? _

_...Yeah, change of plans. _

His heart drops.  _ Why? _

_ I may or may not have accidentally set the timer to one minute. _

I almost trip over myself standing up and frantically survey the surrounding buildings, my heart beating like mad, while Monty asks me how I could  _ possibly _ mess up like that. The nearest empty rooftop is a considerable distance away.  _ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. _ I let myself slide off the Eleftheria’s roof to win some time, gritting my teeth at the jolt going through my knees when I hit the ground. I run toward the edge as fast as I can and  _ fling _ it toward the next roof.

It explodes a few feet before it hits.

Immediately, all hell breaks loose. The crowd shrieks in surprise, turning as one to see what happened—and when they see the cloud of blue smoke rising, they start pushing in every direction to get away. The Emperor is looking as well, anger in his expression as his guards reach him and try to get him off the stage.

“Protect the Eclipse!” he shouts at them. “Bring it back up so they can’t–” After that, he’s too far away from the microphone.

Amid the mass of people losing their minds, one person is going against the stream, doing his very best not to get pulled along. I climb back onto the Eleftheria’s roof, watching and waiting with my heart in my throat to see if he makes it. Fortunately, most people have moved away from the stage, so he manages to push through one final wall of people and climb onto the platform. No one even notices him in the chaos.

He gets behind the rostrum—compared to his father before him, it’s almost comedic how small he is—and tries adjusting the microphone. As he does, he pulls it from its stand on accident, almost hitting himself in the face with it. “Hello!” he shouts into it. “Hi, could you all–”

The sound is drowned out by the squeaking of the red box being lifted again, at a much faster speed than the cables were built for. He flinches, then climbs onto the rostrum itself, sitting down as he stretches out his foot to tilt the camera to focus on him. The images on the big screens wobble for a second, then tilt skyward as he kicks it too far. One final adjustment, and it settles on his face.

“ _ What is he doing?! _ ” I hear Jeanne’s voice in my ear.

“ _ Monty _ ,” Felicity says, “ _ don’t you  _ dare _ – _ ”

Unlike the other rebels, the audience has yet to notice Monty’s appearance, caught up as they all are in their panic. Monty notices it too. He stands up on the rostrum, pulling along the microphone cable, and yells at the top of his lungs, “Hello! Could I have your attention for a moment, please?”

The first people turn. Their surprised shrieks and pointing are drowned out in the rest of the hysteria, but them suddenly stopping like rocks in a river is enough to alert other people. A few dozen at a time, they all look back, jaw dropping when they see the person on the screens. And he looks very different from the obituaries of minutes ago—in everything from his wardrobe to the blue streaks in his hair, to the scars on the right side of his face to the far more genuine spark in his eye—but it is undeniably him, and everyone knows it.

“Hi! Thank you all for showing up here today! Given that it is an occasion in my honor, I figured I’d say a few words.”

“ _ Henry Montague and Percy Newton _ ,” Sim hisses, “ _ I am going to _ murder you–”

I take out my earpiece and pocket it.

Meanwhile, the crowd is  _ losing it _ . People are gasping, exchanging glances, clutching each other like they’ve—well—seen a ghost. The security guards that had started to vacate the stage have noticed what’s going on; one recovers from the confusion the fastest, and she heads straight for Monty.

_ Behind you! _ I yell, and Monty turns as the guard is five feet behind him. My heart leaps—but then something cuts through the air, hits the guard in the shoulder, and sends out a bright electric spark. She tenses up, then falls down.

I follow the line the arrow flew, and find a small figure on a rooftop, bow in her hand. Lightning fast, Esmee fires two more arrows, perfect hits on the next two guards approaching. She’s pulled out a fourth arrow when I look back to Monty, who’s sat down on the rostrum to stay out of the line of fire, his legs dangling over the edge.

“As you all can see, the Empire is rather desperate to cut this short, so we don’t have much time,” he says, voice still somewhat raised to be heard over the occasional shrieks in the audience. “So I’ll cut to the chase! Hi, I’m Henry Montague, former Crown Prince, and as you can tell, I am not dead. Then why the funeral? Well–”

I let myself fall in through the latch in the Elefteria’s roof, not bothering to close it behind me, and run toward the cockpit. I jam the key into the ignition, and flip on the external speakers so Monty’s voice filters through.

“ _...truth is, the Empire is claiming me to be dead, as that’s preferable to admitting I’ve joined the Crown and Cleaver. _ ”

More horrified gasps. While putting the ship into first acceleration, hands already on the steerage, I see more guards trying to get to Monty, some of them now carrying shields. Not a second to waste. I turn on the internal gravity generator, upping the fuel level being sent to the engine to move faster, then the ship lifts off and I’m in the air. I see lights on the communication panel blinking, knowing it’s the others trying to get in touch, but I ignore it.

“ _ Why would it do such a thing? Very simple. The Empire is deeply corrupt. It doesn’t care about any of you. It’s only after more power, at any price. It has been colonizing and stealing and slaughtering since the very start, forcing people to work for it and removing anyone who disagrees, and that includes me. _ ”

I bring the Eleftheria down between the buildings—quite a trick, as to get close enough to Monty, I need to hover fairly low over the crowd. From my peripheral, I see the stage getting more and more crowded with guards. The arrows have stopped but then Jeanne blips in, sword raised, and takes on the fight.

Monty’s once again stood up, nervously glancing behind him, voice up a pitch, “ _ When I—with the help of the rebels—realized what the Empire really was, my own father tried to have me killed. Me, and my soulmate. _ ”

Every word he says seems to send another wave of shock through the audience. No time for that—I first flip on the shields and then turn off the invisibility fields, and the crowd gasps again—then I put the ship on automatic pilot and scramble for the ladder leading to the roof.

I poke out my head and the wind assaults me. I feel like I might be knocked off at any second. I start pulling up the ladder.

“That’s my ride!” Monty shouts, louder and louder. “But remember! The Empire is not what you think it is! Your government is led by a mad tyrant who would stand by and do nothing as his Rome is burnt to the ground if it’d benefit him! He doesn’t care about anyone. Not you, not me,  _ only _ himself. And he  _ will not get away with this _ !”

I toss the ladder toward him, narrowly avoiding thwacking him in the head. Monty grabs hold and climbs on. He yells “See you!” in the microphone, then drops it.

This is when the Empire properly opens fire. I want to help Monty up but I have to get us out of there, so I jump back inside—God, my knees are really going through it today—and trip toward the console. Alarms are blaring about the shields taking hits. I turn off automatic pilot and pull up as fast as I can without hitting any buildings. I hear clanking on the roof, and the next moment, Monty falls in.

“You alright?” I shout back. Below us, I see Jeanne teleport off the stage. Okay. We have to get the others and get out of here. One thing at a time. I turn the invisibility shields back on, praying they’ll hold with the damage the ship is taking, then go straight up until we’re out of reach of the guns. They’ll send ships after us in a minute, but that is a minute we can use to discuss our plan.

“I’m good!” Monty sounds, suddenly right behind me and with his arms around my neck. “What’d you think of my little speech, darling?”

“Lovely.”

“Yeah, I just regret we couldn’t see my father’s face.”

I glance over the dashboard, trying to catch a glimpse of the square below us. “Okay, focus. We have to get everyone out of here and head back home, before they catch us.”

Monty nods. “Meet up at the rendezvous point?”

“Yes.” I wince. “Oh, they’re really going to be so mad.”

“Well, yes.”

I turn back to the dashboard, and as Monty still has an arm wrapped around my neck, he gets dragged along so he winds up in my lap, face purposefully close to mine. He grins, and his eyes light up with the stardust in our veins. “Hi, darling.”

I try to push him aside so I can see through the windshield. “This is not a good time,” I say, but he catches my smile.

“Any time is a good time for…” He leans in, eyes closed, but then a bright flash travels over us and the ship rattles. I shove him aside for real, pull my chair closer to the console and grab onto the steerage.

“Hang on!” I say. I turn off the internal gravity, sending the ship in freefall and only stopping it ten feet above the highest buildings. There I hit the gas and, as fast I can without stealing too much power from the invisibility fields, zoom over the city. I don’t like flying this low, but it’s a necessary evil to avoid detection on the imperial ships’ radars.

It’s successful—within a few minutes we’ve shaken our tail.

“Learned your lesson about distracting me while I’m flying?” I ask.

Monty pretends to consider this. Then he presses a kiss to my cheek. “No,” he says.

I do a half loop around the city, just to make sure we’re clear—then I circle back to the Main Square and gently put down our ship on the roof of the City Hall. This is where we’d agreed to meet if something went wrong; close enough that the others could reach it on foot, hidden in plain sight. I turn off the engines.

“Well,” Monty says. “Guess we better go outside and meet them?”

I lean back with a huff. “You sure? If we leave now, we might escape our demise just yet.” When Monty looks a little bit too interested in that, I say, “I’m kidding.” I pause, and take out the keys. “Let’s face it.”

The wind pulling at us on the City Hall’s roof is as chilling as it’s been all day. We don’t see anyone else here just yet, but as the ship is invisible, they might just be hiding out. We’d better show ourselves.

My feet hit the ground, and I look over the Main Square. It’s almost entirely abandoned, save for the imperial guards running around, trying to bring order back into the chaos we’ve caused. It’s a mess—the whole thing was abandoned in a panicked frenzy. Trampled flowers lie all over, and on stage a few injured imperial guards are getting their wounds tended to.

With just half a second to properly think about it all, doubt starts pressing heavily onto my heart.

“Monty,” I say quietly. “Maybe…we should’ve thought this through properly.”

“You  _ think _ ?!” a woman’s voice calls from across the rooftop.

I turn, and suddenly I find Sim’s marlinspike pointed at my throat. “Are you out of your  _ mind _ ?” she shouts. When I put up both hands, she lowers her weapon and glares daggers at me. “When I said kidnapping the Prince was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, that wasn’t a  _ challenge _ .”

The reality of the situation is starting to sink in, but defending myself is much easier than thinking about that. As I’m still working on arguments to do so, I divert, “Why are you scolding me, but not Monty?”

“Of him, I’d expected this. I thought you’d be smarter.”

And disappointment from Sim always stings.

“I truly cannot believe the rebellion has lasted this long with you two in it,” Felicity adds dryly. “Though I’ve heard there’ve been close calls.”

“Unimaginable that they’ve survived at all without your infinite wisdom, hm?” Monty shoots back, but it’s half overlapped by Sim shouting, “Do you two have  _ any _ idea what you’ve done?”

“Dented the Empire’s credibility?” I offer. “Exposed them as the frauds that they are?”

Sim flicks her eyes skyward. “Don’t be naive. Do you really think we didn’t consider doing something like this? We  _ decided against it _ , for too many reasons to name. But I’m not sure why we even bother coming up with meticulous plans, as we should just let you two do whatever you  _ feel like _ .”

“But–” I still try, no clue where I’m going.

“The objective today was to  _ find out what that device does _ . This was  _ essential _ . It was likely the Empire’s new weapon of mass destruction and we haven’t been able to find out anything about it, meaning it’s already progressed much too far for us to find a proper answer to. So you see why today was important. I’m so glad nothing got in the way and that we now know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“So, Percy, do tell me: what does the device do?”

I lower my head in defeat.

Sim takes a deep breath. “I don’t have time to give you two a full scolding. We have to get out of here.”

_ That wasn’t a full scolding? _ Monty asks incredulously.

It doesn’t even get a smile out of me.  _ We fucked up, darling. _

I see him biting his lip from my peripheral.  _ Yeah, I know. _

“Where are Jeanne and Esmee?” he asks out loud.

We look at the door leading to the roof. “Don’t know,” Felicity says. “They should’ve been here by now.”

An uncomfortable silence passes.

“I’m going to look for them,” Sim says, already starting toward the door, but I grab her arm.

“We’ll go,” I say. I half expect a protest from Monty, at the very least jokingly, but it doesn’t come. He just nods.

Sim looks between us. “Altruism isn’t going to make me forgive you.”

I smile. “I know.”

I toss her the ship’s keys as I walk past her. “And besides, someone has to protect the ship.”

Sim rolls her eyes. “Don’t get killed.”

Monty walks backwards beside me and calls to the girls, “No sentimental words for you older brother, Felicity?”

“Nope.”

Monty presses a splayed hand to his chest in indignation.

The staircase leading down is dark. When the door falls closed behind us, I stop a moment to let my eyes adjust. Distantly, I hear running footsteps, and shouting voices. They’re looking for us, no doubt about it. We’ll have to be careful.

Which might be a trick considering that we have no clue where we’re going.

“I can’t see,” I whisper.

Monty slips his hand into mine, and the next moment, I see his face, smiling at me. From our linked hands, glowing veins shoot up our arms until they disappear into our sleeves.

“Better?” he asks.

Whatever that stardust did to us, it does have its advantages.

We creep down the stairs, lingering at the next door. I push it open, just a smidge, and peer into one of the ornate hallways of the City Hall. Next to me, Monty presses two fingers to his hearing aid, which doubles as an earpiece. “Jeanne? Esmee? Where are you?”

It’s silent for an unnervingly long time. Then, the line creaks, and Jeanne’s voice whispers in my ear, “ _ City Hall, seventh floor. We can’t move, there’s too many of them. _ ”

“We’re on our way,” I say.

“ _ Good. Then I can throw you both out of a window. _ ”

We remain motionless as six imperial guards march by, weapons resting against their shoulders. When we’re sure there’s no one else coming, we slip out and move through the halls, our hearts beating like mad. I summon my shield, and Monty pulls up a three-dimensional map of the building on his communicator.

“Second to the left,” he says.

We move through the building swiftly, hiding every now and then and trying to pace our breaths. The further down we go, the trickier it becomes—I’ve never seen so many imperial guards in one place in my entire life,  and with our combined combat skills being slim to none, things could be looking brighter.

The seventh floor is indeed crawling with security. We try to look for a quiet moment to sneak in, but it’s impossible. Monty’s sat down with his back to the wall beside me, studying the map.

_ We go one more floor down, _ he says.  _ There’s a part of it being renovated, so it should be abandoned. There’s got to be a way back up from there. _

He’s right—a considerable part of the sixth floor is in ruins, with scaffolds, loose boards and tools scattered between bare walls. There’s no one there, so we make our way across without issue, the stardust in our veins our guiding light.

Monty has one foot on my shoulder and one foot on my linked hands, trying to remove a ceiling panel that looked like a possible way to get back to the seventh floor, when I spot them. It’s in the metal of a barrel catching the sparse light pouring in, and it’s almost too late—I’m forced to drop Monty to summon my shield and he yelps, grabbing onto my shoulder. They open fire and we both sink to the floor, huddling together against the rain of bullets.

_ How the fuck did they find us?! _ Monty says.

I notice a few of the shooters progressing toward us.  _ We have to move. _

I drag him to his feet, keeping an arm around his shoulders to make sure the shield covers us both as we run. It’s perilous terrain, uneven, and we half trip more than once. Our assailants assess correctly that my shield can take their fire, so instead they aim for our feet, which I can’t properly protect without risking getting the shield stuck behind something. So it’s running, running, running, until Monty yells  _ Here! _ and drags us into a different room. We slam the door closed and immediately scramble for anything and everything that can be used as a barricade. I shove an old desk in front of it and Monty topples a cabinet, then we grab two or three pallets to stack as well. Monty presses himself to me and I brace myself behind my shield, ready for the fire to come regardless.

Within seconds, the footsteps reach us, and the doorknob is rattled. Indistinguishable words are exchanged, then, someone tries to batter in the door. We flinch but stand our ground, waiting, ready. They open fire, and Monty’s strangling grip around my sleeve tightens, the sound ringing in our ears louder than our heartbeats, but the bullets bury themselves in the iron and the wood, don’t even reach my shield.

It stops. We both hold our breath for another thirty seconds, then we hear the clicking of weapons, mumbling of voices. No further move. They’re thinking out their next move, no doubt, but we may have bought ourselves a few minutes.

We relax.

Monty untangles himself from me, catching his breath. He gives me a scared little smile. “So far, so good.”

It’s still quiet on the other side of the door. I make my shield smaller and move closer, trying to make out anything they’re saying, but I can’t. At this point I’m not even sure they’re still talking. They can’t have left, can they?

I’m trying to figure out what to expect, when I suddenly feel Monty’s hand on my arm. I don’t turn immediately, eyes trained on the door, holding my breath and still prepared for the worst.

“Percy,” Monty says quietly.

I look, first at his face. He’s wide-eyed, a red highlight framing his profile. Now that the sounds of the imperial guards trying to get in have stopped, I notice the faint humming noise, coming from further into the room. I follow Monty’s gaze.

It’s mostly dark, silhouettes of scaffolds and pallets covered in sheets of plastic propped up against the walls. It’s colder here, too—I see crevices in the outer wall, through which the wind slithers in. But taking up most of the space, is a big, red box.

“The Eclipse,” I whisper.

It’s even bigger than I thought it would be. Eight feet high, over fifteen feet long, and it looks like it could easily fit twenty people in it. It can’t refract any light, as there is none here, but still it emits a faint, red glow.

It sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Monty says.

I make my shield disappear. “What do you think it is?” I say softly.

“Well, we would’ve found out.” There’s humor in his tone. “If someone hadn’t set off a bomb too early.”

I roll my eyes. “We would’ve found out if  _ someone _ hadn’t decided he wanted to get on that stage.”

“Percy, that stage was  _ begging _ me to climb on. And who am I to deny the galaxy a look at this handsome face?” He holds the act for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Fine, we’re both to blame.”

We cautiously move closer. At the right side of the short end, there’s a panel embedded in the metal. It displays a slumber mode animation. I hesitate, then tap it twice—it lights up and shows the Empire’s crest, then asks for a password.

Monty’s at my side, tracing some lines on the glass. When he presses his palm flat against it, the lines light up, and Monty jumps back. The wall splits in two and slides open.

He gives me an awkward smile. “I got it to open?”

My eyes dart past him, to something I’d spotted before but that I’d shrugged off as a distortion of the glass. But it’s clearly there, huddled away in a far corner. “What is that?”

“Hm?”

I cast one final look around. Then, I slowly step into the box.

“Percy,” Monty hisses. “What are you doing?”

“Just gonna take a look,” I say, not taking my eyes off the object. It’s small, vaguely round and dark, almost insignificant. But then why would it be here?

“I don’t think this is a good idea, darling,” Monty says. “We should try to find a way out of here.”

“It’ll just take a second.” Suddenly, new hope fills me. We may have messed up, but this is a chance to make things right, to some extent. “This is what we came here for, didn’t we?”

Monty falters. I cross the box in a few seconds, footsteps soundless on the glass floor. It seems as if this thing creates its own silence, not just audibly, but in my thoughts as well. I stop. The object is barely the size of my shoe. I crouch down and pick it up. It’s cold in my hand.

“It’s some kind of rock,” I call back to Monty. Why a rock? I don’t get it. What’s so important about–

I turn it over in my hand, and something catches my eye. First I think it’s a reflection of the red light, but it’s not. It takes me so long to recognize it, it’s almost as if I’ve forgotten what any other colors look like.

“Percy.”

But it’s  _ blue _ —blue as Monty’s eyes, and it’s glowing, small flecks of light coming from within the rock.

“Percy!”

“It’s astridium,” I whisper. But why is it so faint?

I barely register his footsteps, so I start a little at the sudden hand on my arm. “Percy, let’s get out of here–”

“Look!”

I show him the rock, pointing out the blue spots. Under my eyes, they turn red, then go out, like the surface of a dying star.

There’s a hissing noise. We both turn, just in time to see the door slide shut again. Our hearts leap. We dash toward it but it’s too late—the glass has welded together again, not even leaving any edges to pull on.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Monty mutters.

We search the wall for anything to help, anything offering purchase, anything at all—but there is no way out of this perfectly engineered trap.

Goddamn, it was a trap.

There’s a noise of scraping metal, and we almost fall over. Monty grabs onto my arm. The box has started moving—it’s lifted off the ground, toward the outer wall. The latch slides open and we’re blinded by daylight; then the box moves again and we fall over for real this time. We’re lifted out of the room, into the open. The Main Square is under us, abandoned except for the Imperial Guard closing off the place. There’s one more figure, back on the stage, looking up at us in disdain. Monty clutches my arm tighter.

The Emperor faces the cameras in front of him again, and the screens on either of our sides light up. He looks grim. “Citizens of the galaxy,” he finally speaks, his voice impossibly loud now we’re so close to the speakers. “If what happened here earlier today was unclear, I will recapitulate it briefly. The Crown and Cleaver has once shown that they have  _ no _ conscience. Not only did they  _ brutally murder my son _ , now they have the  _ audacity _ , the absolute lack of shame, to let an  _ imposter _ interrupt his funeral.”

The box has stilled, so Monty and I get to our feet. I pull out my shield and push Monty behind me, my heart racing in my chest. “Some help would be appreciated,” I mumble.

“ _ We’re on our way _ ,” Sim says, sounding tense.

“We had planned to demonstrate the Eclipse on astridium, but if a pair of Linked wants to volunteer, who am I to decline?” His jaw sets. “Begin.”

The grooves in the metal light up red, then white, a humming noise starting up. It’s bearable at first, but then it gets louder, until it seems to cut straight through my bones. I grind my teeth, pressing my hands to my ears, and lock eyes with Monty. He’s yelling something but I can’t understand it. Even when he tries again telepathically it’s faint.

_ What is it doing?! _ he asks.

_ I don’t know! _ I shout back.  _ I contacted the others and they– _

Suddenly the noise stops, then restarts immediately—except now it doesn’t feel like it’s sawing through my bones anymore, it feels like it’s cutting into my soul. I gasp with pain, falling over and grabbing Monty’s arm halfway. We both sink to the floor, clutching together—it’s all we can do to anchor ourselves in this flood of screaming red, in white hot lines dancing at the edges of our vision, while the world around us tears itself to pieces.

_ Percy _ , Monty breathes. He forces me to meet his eyes—he’s wincing with pain.  _ Percy, listen to me. I think this is… _

His voice falls away, as if the volume has been turned down. I see his lips moving, his eyes boring into mine, but I can’t hear a damned thing over this noise. It’s all-consuming, until the world has shrunk down to  _ red _ and  _ loud _ , and then the red falls away too as darkness creeps in from my peripherals and it’s only that sound and Monty’s face.

And just like that, he’s gone.


	2. Two

I wake up in bed, and Monty isn’t there.

I sit up with a gasp. My heart is racing, my head is sore, and I feel as if I’ve run a mile. My skin is damp. Have I been sweating? Crying? Did I have a seizure? I can’t remember. I’m panting, heaving in breaths like a fish out of the water, and all I know is that something is terribly,  _ terribly _ wrong–

“Percy!”

I look beside me. My vision is so blurry that it takes me a moment to recognize her.

“It’s okay,” Sim says, both hands raised. “You’re safe now. You’re back home.”

_ Back home _ . My eyes widen. The funeral. The funeral and the mission and the Eclipse and–

“ _ Monty _ .”

“He’s alright.” Sim’s looking uncharacteristically worried. “You’re both all right.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head. “No, we’re… _ Where’s Monty? _ ”

My hands go to my wrist instinctively, the only thing that could explain this absence. But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing. Then why–?  _ How– _ ?

“Tell me what’s going on. Are you in pain?”

I don’t know. I don’t  _ know _ . I don’t know what I’m feeling except that I’m drowning in it, that it’s so much, that it’s  _ bad _ —that it could swallow me whole if I’d let it. I try to talk but I can’t—I end up just gasping for air.

“Percy.  _ Percy. _ ”

I haven’t even noticed I’ve stood up until I feel Sim’s hands on my arm, her concerned face close, and only then it hits me that I’m completely off my balance. The world spins and a wave of nausea rolls through me. I feel sick to my stomach.

“Monty,” I breathe.

Sim presses her lips together and nods, then puts my arm over her shoulders and steadies me as we leave the room. I vaguely register we’re in the hospital ward, but I don’t care—maybe there’s other people present, maybe someone’s talking to me, maybe it’s Sim, but all I’m aware of is the beat of my heart, beating irregularly, beating alone.

For a second I think I may pass out, but I’m pulled back to reality by a noise. It takes me a long time to recognize it as shouting, and even longer to recognize it as my own name. It’s a panicked sound, thin with fear, and someone shouts in response and there’s running footsteps and a crashing noise and–

“ _ Percy! _ ”

And I know that voice, I’ve always known that voice, nestled in the crooks of my subconscious, always ready to crack a joke to cheer me up, always a comforting word ready. I think I’m calling back to him but I’m not sure. I can only see my feet moving, distorted, until everything focuses crystal clear on his face.

We look each other up and down; he’s going through the same thing I am, I can read that from his expression—I have to  _ read it from his expression _ —both of us trying to wrap our heads around it. Monty raises a trembling hand, hesitantly, looking like I might be a ghost and his hand will go straight through me.

“It’s gone,” he blurts out. “Y-You’re gone.”

I nod, the slightest of movements, wide-eyed as I take his hand in mine. We’re both shaking, shaking as I put my other hand on his shoulder, as he reaches out to touch my face. I feel tears well up in my eyes, see them pouring down Monty’s face, searching in his eyes that don’t light up anymore.

I can’t take it any longer; I pull him into my arms, smothering the sob escaping him.

“So is it…?” a hesitant voice comes from beside us. It’s Felicity. “Your bond.”

I can’t force any words out of my throat. I just nod.

She’s quiet for a while. Then she sighs. “As I suspected.”

“Percy,” Monty says, barely a whimper. He distances himself again so he can look at me. His lip quivers as he tries to get his words sorted, to say something, I don’t know what.  _ I don’t know what he’s thinking _ . It jumps me like a wild animal. I look at his face and I have no idea what’s going on behind those blue eyes, don’t know what he’s feeling—he’s hurting, he could be hurting, from now on he could be hurting anytime and I  _ wouldn’t know _ –

“I’m so sorry,” he says, tears pooling in his eyes. Then, half to himself, “Shit. This is my fault. This is my fault, all of this is my fault–”

“No, Monty.” I take his shoulders. I’m barely able to articulate words through how choked away my voice is. “It’s not, it’s–”

“ _ We lost our bond, Percy! _ ” he screams. He flinches with a sob. “We lost our bond because I was stupid and impulsive and reckless—because I was everything I said I wouldn’t be anymore. And now it’s gone. It’s gone forever.”

“Uh,” Felicity says.

Panic lights up inside me, and it’s difficult to breathe around it. “Fuck,” I whisper. I’m in pain, but I have to reassure Monty– “No, love, it wasn’t—it was as much my fault as yours, I— _ Fuck _ .”

“It hurts,” Monty breathes. “It hurts, I—is it—is it always going to–?”

“Actually,” Felicity interjects.

“We’re going to get through this,” I say. “We’re going to— _ Fuck _ , Monty, I’m so sorry–”

“ _ Both of you _ , shut up and  _ listen to me _ .”

We look up.

Felicity has her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. “Look. This isn’t the end of the world–”

Monty’s anger catches me off guard. “What do you know?” She opens her mouth to retort, but Monty cuts her off, “No,  _ you _ listen to  _ me _ . Percy and I have just lost something incredibly important to us, so you can find some goddamn decency and let us  _ mourn it _ .”

She rolls her eyes, sighing. “Monty, you don’t understand–”

“No,  _ you _ don’t understand.”

“Monty.” I take his hand, but he shrugs me off.

“What do you know about soulmates, anyway?” he snaps. “What do you know about loving someone so goddamn much that it becomes a part of who you are? What do you know about being prepared to move heaven and earth for someone? What do you know about losing a part of your  _ soul? _ ” 

Felicity purses her lips and watches him through narrowed eyes for several moments. Then, she turns to Sim. “That’s it. I’m not telling him anymore.”

“Felicity,” Sim admonishes her.

“Fine.” Felicity pivots toward us, arms still crossed, and says, “We ran tests and it’s permanent. Your bond is not coming back.”

“ _ Felicity! _ ”

Felicity shoots her an annoyed glance. She eyes Monty for a long moment, then me—and she must find something to take pity in us. “ _ Fine _ .” She takes a deep breath. “We took blood samples, and the stardust is still there. Do you understand? It’s not gone, it’s just been deactivated. The way it would be if you were wearing inhibitors.”

“But we’re…” I frown in thought. I only barely understand what’s happening. “We’re not.”

“No, that’s what makes the Eclipse such a big deal. Same effects, except longer, and they don’t need to be sustained. They’re obviously working toward something that can… _ un-Link _ Linked matter permanently.” My heart vaults. “But they’re not there yet.”

“So what…what does that mean for us?” Monty asks.

“Your bond is coming back, Monty,” she says, and an indescribable weight falls off my shoulders. “Probably even today. We’ve been monitoring you and fragments are already active again. It’s a matter of time.”

I audibly gasp in relief. I put my hand on Monty’s shoulder for support, and he collapses against me, eyes wide in disbelief. We’re speechless for a while.

“Oh my God,” Monty eventually says, and a breathy laugh escapes me.

“Oh my God,” I repeat, and then we both start laughing, stunned and shaking. I hug Monty close and realize he’s crying.

“That was one of the scariest things that ever happened to me,” he breathes, and I can’t even muster the energy to nod in agreement.

We stand there for a while, soaking up the relief that  _ no _ , this isn’t forever. I’ll be able to feel what he feels again, our heartbeats will be synchronous again, probably even today.

Holy  _ shit _ .

“Alright, you two,” Sim says after a while. “Go rest up.”

I nod, and Monty pulls away, still keeping my arm over his shoulders. Our sides pressed together we slink off, back toward the room I woke up in.

“Percy,” Sim calls.

I turn.

She presses her lips together. “When I told you we needed to know more about the device…”

Understanding dawns on me. I huff with a tired smile, then shake my head. “No. It was my decision.”

She hesitates a moment longer, then smiles wearily. “Alright.”

“Okay, go.”

“…I’m not getting anything. Are you sure you’re thinking about it hard enough?”

“Are  _ you _ sure you’re trying hard enough?”

He scrunches up his nose at me.

“It doesn’t matter, Monty, just guess something.”

“Fine. Uhh…Twenty-eight.”

“Not even close.”

Monty dramatically flails himself down on the bed. “That’s it. I’m giving up. When our bond comes back it should just send me a written notice. I’m tired of the effort.”

I smile wearily, then lie down beside him. We’re on the hospital bed I woke up on, door closed, everything quiet. Monty’s pouting, stray piece of blue hair lingering in front of his closed eyes. I reach out to tuck it behind his ear. “Felicity said that trying to use our bond might help recover it.”

He sighs. “Ugh. Fine.” Eyes open, smile. “I’ve got a number for you.”

I nod, then shut out the rest of the world, trying to focus on a voice in my head that might not even be there. Just a number. There’s only an infinite amount of those. A number Monty’s thinking of and that I have to guess, something he’s repeating in his head, something he’s trying to get to me through our dormant Link and that I cannot for the life of me receive. I huff, then surrender. “Sorry, love. I have no idea.” My stomach growls. “Ugh. I haven't eaten since before the mission.”

“God, same." His eyes go wistful.

And then, both of us at the same time, “Do you think they’re serving…pizzas in the cafeteria toni–”

We stop to look at each other wide-eyed. I frown. “…That was a coincidence, right?”

“Maybe?”

But neither of us really believes it.

We sit up, hands on the other’s arms. “Maybe we’ve been going at this wrong,” I say. “Numbers are pretty difficult. We could start out simpler.”

“Like with names,” Monty adds on, “of people we know.”

I’m nodding, my heartbeat picking up.

“Okay, I’ve got someone,” Monty says.

I close my eyes again and try to focus. “Wait…” It’s still no voice in my head for sure, more a sort of familiar-shaped feeling. It could be nothing but…I blink. “Sinjon? Really?”

A laugh escapes him, and he claps a hand in front of his mouth. “That  _ worked _ ?!”

“I think so? It could’ve just been a guess, though.”

“You think of something.”

“Okay. Let’s try something else. Like…a memory. Something that happened to us.” I think a few weeks back, to a particular noteworthy event involving Monty. I struggle to keep the grin off my face. “Alright, go.”

Monty screws his face up in concentration. Then he opens one eye, looking peeved. “The ice cream incident.”

I bite back a laugh. “Ah, come on, it was funny.”

“Humiliating, more like it.”

“I had to hug you for days because you were so cold.”

He looks caught off guard at that, and a bit smug. “Oh. Right.”

“Monty. Were you faking that so I’d hold you?”

“Not in the  _ beginning _ .”

“Oh my God. You are unbelievable.”

“That’s a weird way to pronounce  _ genius _ .” He waves away the conversation. “Okay. I got a word for you this time.”

I focus again. Everything inside me is buzzing with joy, so relieved to have our soulbond coming back. I’m twitching my fingers in thought and Monty takes my hands in his, watching me. He brings my knuckles to his lips, and in that moment, it crystalizes in my head.

“ _ Darling _ .”

Monty grins broadly and that’s when it happens—his eyes light up, and from there, so do the veins on his face, in his neck, down his arms and the rest of his body, so brightly that the glow goes through his clothes. He looks at it in wonder, following it across our linked hands, over my arms. I touch a hand to my face. “Is it…?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Oh thank the–” but I don’t get to finish that sentence, because Monty tackles me to the bed and smothers me with a kiss.

We finally pull away, slightly, so our noses are still brushing. Monty looks down at me with so much amazement, beaming in every sense of the word.

“Look at you,” I say. “You’re so bright. Like a star. I might need sunglasses.”

Monty laughs, then kisses me again, and again, and again.

“That’s unnecessary,” Felicity says, narrowing her eyes.

“Percy and I were almost separated for life.”

“Yes, but you  _ weren’t _ , so  _ why _ are you sitting in his lap? This is an official meeting.”

Monty huffs, and demonstratively wraps his arms around my neck while glaring at his sister in challenge. She rolls her eyes and turns her back to us. We’re both still glowing worse than we have in months so I really can’t see the screen up front, but I don’t really care either. I press my face in Monty’s shoulder, relishing in our shared heartbeats.

The door opens. I don’t look up right away. Monty tenses, though, and stands up. “Jeanne. Esmee.”

The girls look anything but happy. They stop as soon as they see us, expressions dropping. Jeanne crosses her arms. “Well, well. If it aren’t the banes of the Crown and Cleaver’s existence.”

I stand up as well. “I am so, so sorry.”

“We both are,” Monty says. “We weren’t thinking. I mean…I wasn’t thinking. Percy told me it was a bad idea but I…Sorry. Are you alright?”

She holds her defense for another moment, then relaxes her shoulders. “We’re fine. What about you?” Her eyes soften. “I heard about your…”

“It’s back.” Monty smiles on the words, relief in his voice. “Still a little wonky, but it’s back.”

“I’m glad.  _ Never _ pull anything like that again.”

Esmee huffs. “Oh, they will.”

“Fine, but risk your own lives for it. Not ours.”

“No one said you had to come save us,” I say, hoping it’s not too soon for those kinds of jokes yet.

“Hmm.”

The door opens again, and Scipio and the Commodore enter. The latter gives us a stern look and moves on, but Scipio walks up to us. He puts a hand on our shoulders, and earnestly peers us in the eye. “Are you both alright?”

“Yes,” Monty says.

“Your bond has returned?”

I smile weakly. “Yes, thankfully.”

“Good. You two are grounded for the rest of your lives.”

I open my mouth to argue, but decide against it. I sit back down. “That’s fair.”

I notice the screen lighting up in my peripheral, and next, a voice sounds. “ _ Citizens of the galaxy _ .”

Monty jumps a little, trying to hide the motion as he sits down on the table. We all turn to the footage being shown.

“ _ If what happened here earlier today was unclear, I will recapitulate it briefly. The Crown and Cleaver has once shown that they have no conscience. Not only did they brutally murder my son, now they have the audacity, the absolute lack of shame, to let an imposter interrupt his funeral _ .”

The camera pans away from the Emperor, upward, until it stops on the red box, suspended in the air by cables. Two figures scramble to their feet, panic writ all over them.

Monty takes my hand and squeezes it.

The video is at that point mercifully paused. I look over at the Commodore, who’s gathering himself to speak.

“Never,” he starts, “in almost three decades of leading this rebellion, have I witnessed such a catastrophic inability to follow simple orders.”

I lower my head.

“But what’s done is done. Simmaa?”

Sim steps forward. Her eyes land on us for a moment, mouth twitching, but then she turns back to the screen. “First things first. The Eclipse.”

A collage of pictures of the device, all from the live footage aired by the Empire, is displayed. I shiver.

“Not entirely unexpected, but still worse than we feared. They’re expanding their current technology, which so far was only used—that we know of—in Link inhibitors, to a much, much grander scale. First, a cell that can neutralize any kinds of Links, quickly, and permanently. Soulbonds, Linked abilities, astridium. All disabled. As a next step, this will likely be weaponized, to be applied more efficiently, during battle, amongst other things.”

“But… _ why _ ?” I can’t help but ask. “All their technology runs on astridium.”

“Yes, but so does all of ours. Not to mention that we rely on the ship’s Linked properties for protection.”

The reality of the situation sinks in.  _ Shit _ . This is bad.

“The only good news is that it’s not properly functional yet.” She looks at us. “The effects fade in time. So it’s safe to guess that that will be their main concern for the near future.”

“Perfecting it,” Esmee concludes.

“Which is where we have to intervene,” Sim goes on. “Stop them, if possible, and if not, beat them to it.”

I frown. “You mean…using that technology for ourselves?”

Monty restlessly rubs his thumb along my knuckles.

Sim sighs. “I don’t like it either, but it’s that, or sitting around waiting for them to use it against us. If we can fight them with their own weapons, that’s a big win on our part. At the very least we’ll be able to study it, find its weaknesses, and see if the effects can be reversed.”

“What  _ is _ anti-Link tech built on anyway?” Felicity asks.

“That’s the thing. No one really knows. The Crown and Cleaver have made some Link inhibitors themselves, experimentally, but even we’re not sure. We only came across the base material by accident, and I’m sure it’s the same for the Empire.”

“Base material?” Jeanne asks.

“Yes.” Sim nods. “Like Linked matter, this… _ element _ exists naturally in the universe. But it’s rare and unexplained.” She nods to Scipio, who’s manning the computer. The screen changes again to show…open space. Dark, with a few distant stars. It takes me a while to realize this is a video rather than a photograph. Something in the middle moves, lighting up a dark red. It’s difficult to see, fluctuating faintly, but it’s definitely there—some kind of strange distortion mutilating spacetime, boiling and gaping.

“Is that…a black hole?”

“Definitely not. It’s weightless and, therefore, has absolutely no kind of gravitational pull. Plus, it’s harvestable.”

Unsettling.

“These kinds of… _ wounds _ show up all over the galaxy. Millions of lightyears apart, some bigger than others, but with seemingly no common factor. Sometimes in populated areas.”

“And this is what the Empire’s using?” Felicity says.

“Yes. They must’ve found a way to harvest it more easily, as well as incorporate it into machinery, and to amplify its effects, which we thought was impossible. We fear…” She pauses. “We fear they’ve gotten their hands on some kind of ancient technology.”

A silence falls over us.

“Linked matter and the sorts…they’re a natural resource. They can be used, but they’re not meant to be manipulated. It could have catastrophic effects on a galactic scope.”

“Not that the Empire would care about that,” I remark.

“Indeed, no. Which is why it’s so important that we apprehend them.”

I sit up. “Okay. How do we do that?”

Sim nods. “First, we steal any information we can.” The screen now shows the picture of a man in his thirties or forties, with greyish blond hair, frowning at some point to the left of the camera. “This,” she continues, “is Dr. Alexander Platt. He’s the lead scientist on the project. He’s been most productive exploring new areas of the galaxy on his travels and bringing back knowledge from there, further proving that the bulk of this research isn’t happening in an Empire lab.

“Platt’s hosting a party in his manor on Vonk, a satellite of the Capitol, in two days' time,” the house in question is shown, alongside with a floor plan, “likely to convince investors. We’re going to sneak in, find anything we can, and get out before we’re caught. But before anyone volunteers, there’s one more thing we have to discuss.” The screen shows a still image of Monty on stage at the funeral, looking particularly smug. “This mess.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a mess,” Monty says.

“The Empire,” Sim talks over him, “is playing this off as a stunt on our part. An imposter.”

“That’s a dumb excuse,” Monty says. “If I were impersonating myself, I wouldn’t add the scars. It’s just excessive.” Everyone glares at him. “Let me guess, this is the part where I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the meeting?”

“The rest of the month would be even better, but I’ll take what I can get,” Felicity says.

Sim glances at the both of them. “Anyway. Blame aside, this is…a big deal. The war just scaled up. Everyone is involved now.”

“I still don’t understand what I did wrong,” Monty argues, ignoring his sister’s eye roll. “The Empire is corrupt, the Crown and Cleaver are the good guys. It’s time people knew that. I was just exposing them.”

Sim’s jaw sets, eyes narrowing. “Right. Because after four months of being a rebel, you know better than those of us who’ve been at it our entire lives.” Monty opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off. “That’s not just stupid,  _ Your Highness _ , that’s arrogant.”

“What Sim is trying to say,” Scipio takes over, “is that it has much bigger complications than you know. People believing in the Empire’s innocence was not ideal, but it was a secure status quo. Now, people are starting to doubt. They start to get scared. Most of them live in Empire-controlled territory. Ignorance kept them safe. Now…people might get hurt.”

The weight on my shoulders gets heavier. I’d never stopped to consider that. Beside me, I feel the realization do the same to Monty. I bury my face in my hands. “Shit.”

Sim pauses. “It had to happen sooner or later,” she admits. “But we’d have preferred for it to be in more controlled circumstances.”

“Things have been set in motion now,” Scipio says. “No taking it back. We can only deal with the effects.”

“Yes, and they’re not all bad. You two made an impulsive mistake at the funeral, but then again, so did the Emperor.”

Monty looks up. “Huh?”

“Using the Eclipse on you with the entire galaxy watching? You were clearly in pain.” Sim smiles humorlessly. “Doesn’t exactly fit the image of a benevolent government, does it?”

Memories of that day assault me. I try to blink them away.

“Plus, in all its controversy…your appearance did stir up doubt. People who aren’t sure whether to believe the Empire when they say you were an imposter.”

Websites pop up on the screen—social media, forums, non-Empire controlled news outlets.

“It’s all over the internet. Anything openly doubting or criticizing the event was taken down immediately, so people got smarter.” A particular forum is displayed, about history, it seems. Its most popular subcategory is titled  _ Ancient Rome > theories _ . Sim smiles. “They’re no longer talking about the possible corruption of the Empire, they’re talking about the historical burning of Rome.”

“Oh, huh,” Monty says. “That was quite a good line on my part, wasn’t it? Would you believe me if I said the whole thing was improvised?”

“Of course, Monty,” Felicity replies sourly. “We’re all terribly aware you’re incapable of thinking ahead.”

“Right now, people want information,” Sim continues. “We need to use that rightful doubt to get them on our side, eventually, but before that, we have to soothe them. Tell them that this terrible thing they found out is, in fact, the truth, but that we’re working day and night to overthrow the Empire. And more importantly—we have to convince them sooner, and more effectively, than the Empire will.” She presses her lips together. “We’re in a PR war now.”

“So what’s the plan?” I ask.

At that, Sim and Scipio exchange a glance.

“We have a favor to ask of you,” Scipio says.

Sim crosses her arms. “And as you consider it, keep in mind what you stirred up at the funeral and know that we’re still very mad over it.”

Monty and I look at each other.

“…The Crown and Cleaver,” Sim starts, “will be carrying the bulk of all this. Setting up channels, information distribution, encryption and all that. But to actually carry on these messages…we’ll need a public figure.”

And they all look at Monty.

“Wait.  _ Me? _ ” He presses a hand to his chest, looking between them. He laughs awkwardly. “I don’t understand.”

“It makes sense,” Scipio says. “Everyone already knows you, they always have. And a Prince of the Empire turned rebel…that’s a pretty powerful symbol. Not to mention your appearance at the funeral.” He nods, shortly. “The fire’s already going. And you’ve lit it.”

Monty’s eyes go unfocused, lost in thought. I squeeze his hand, and he snaps out of it to look at me.  _ You don’t have to _ , I say.  _ They can find someone else. _

_ But it’d help. _ He bites his lip.  _ And I’ve wrought my fair share of damage. This is the least I can do. _ He gives me a wry smile.  _ It’s all in the interest of winning the war, right? _

I hesitate, then nod.  _ Alright. I’m with you no matter what. _

His smile becomes more genuine, and I’m sure that in any other situation he’d have kissed me. Instead, he turns to the Commodore and says earnestly, “I’ll do it.”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Felicity cuts in. “Monty messes up an important mission, and you’re gonna reward him by giving in to his addiction for attention?”

That only gets her sour glances. She huffs, and slinks down in her seat.

“What do you want me to do?” Monty asks.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Sim says. “This is a plan in progress. First, we have intel to retrieve.”

I nod. “The mission at Platt’s.” I try for a smile. “I’m sure we can’t convince you to let us go?”

“Oh, you’re going. We’ve decided that.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

Sim grins and crosses her arms, looking far more smug than she has any business of being. “For this, we do have a plan.” She looks at me and Monty, clearly gloating. “We’re going to use you as bait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out it's fun space shenanigans! For now.


	3. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day at the Crown and Cleaver.

I absently drum my fingers on the counter, letting my eyes wander over the stacks of paper threatening to keel over. I wait until the seconds hand passes the hour, then I hit the little bell again.

“On my way, on my way!” a voice calls from the office, accompanied by clicking heels and the rattling of several plastic pearl necklaces. She’s brushing her overly long bangs out of her eyes when she appears in the doorframe. “Oh, Percy! Hi.”

“Hi, Dot.”

Dot puts her elbows down on the counter and smiles at me. “Sorry for the wait, love. What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about the application for a double bed?”

Her eyes go wide. She claps both hands in front of her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Did you…forget again?”

“I am _so_ sorry–”

“It’s okay,” I say, laughingly. “It’s really not urgent, I promise.”

“Ah, by the stars, I have so much to do!”

“I know, Dot.”

She starts pacing around, picking up stacks of files. “I mean, look at all of this! Decades worth of files to digitalize and store away! I don’t think I’ll ever be done.”

“The Crown and Cleaver would be doomed without you,” I say.

Dot stops, putting a hand to her cheek and blushing. “Aw, they would be, wouldn’t they?” She revels in the compliment a moment longer, then says, “Tell you what, I’ll find you that form you filled in, and put it on my desk. Get to it first thing!”

“You don’t have to–”

“No, no, I will! Oh, at least you’re nice about it. Most people just go _Dot, do this_ and _Dot, file that_ and _Dot, where’s my paperwork_ –” She starts ruffling through another stack of papers. It tips over and I rush in to stop it from falling. “Oh, where did I leave that file?”

“Want me to help you look?”

“Oh, no. No!” She heads over to another stack, turning her back to me. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Percy, it’s just that I have a very exact filing system and I cannot allow anyone to mess it up. But thank you for the offer.”

Since Monty and I properly got together, we’ve been sharing a bed. My bed, as he claims that the mattress is softer. Still, while I hardly plan to stop clinging to him, it would be nicer if I didn’t almost fall off the edge every time he turns in his sleep.

I give Dot five more minutes of rummaging around, before I offer, “Shall I…fill in a new form?”

She presses a hand to her chest and sighs in relief. “Would you do that? Oh, you’re such a dear. I swear I had that form just days ago…” She puts her fists in her sides and looks around, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I just can’t understand where it’s gone.”

A few minutes later I’m handed a new form and a pen.

“Does anyone ever tell you you’re too good for this galaxy?” Dot asks.

“You do,” I say with a smile. “All the time. Oh, before I forget—did those cables for the radio come in yet?”

“They did!” She claps her hands. “And I know right where they are! I’ll be right back–”

Fifteen minutes I’m walking through the hallways of the ship, box of cables under one arm. A handful of people say hi to me, others glare or straight up ignore me. Someone I don't know hisses "Traitor" in my direction as I pass by. 

Which is another fun development ever since Monty’s identity was revealed.

I take the stairs and go up three floors, making my way through one of the more cluttered parts of the ship. Through the crevices of one doorframe light falls out, and I hear muffled voices. I knock three times.

“Come in!”

I enter the room and almost immediately trip over a toolbox. I manage to avoid falling on my face but I stub my toe.

_Ow! Hey, what was that?!_

“Careful where you put your feet,” Ebrahim says with a laugh. “This place is a health and safety hazard at the moment.”

“That I can’t disagree with.”

It really is a mess. We’re at the outer edge of the ship here, and against the big windows, several desks are set up, cluttered with interfaces, keyboards, screens and mixers, all of it absolutely covered in wires. Even the room itself is a work in progress: Ebrahim is fixing up the heater and Lin is boarding up a hole in the wall that looks right into the next room. Sinjon looks up from his computer to smile at me, not pausing from typing.

_Perce?_

_Just stubbed my toe, love._

“I come bearing gifts,” I say, and place the box of cables on a chair, lacking another place to put it. Ebrahim gets up, using the heater as support, and comes over.

“I was going to pick those up later today!” he says.

I smile. “Looks like I beat you to it.”

Ebrahim pats me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Percy. You saved me a trip downstairs.”

“You’re welcome.” I put my hands in my pockets. “So, how are things coming along here?”

“Pretty good! The majority of the work here is done. If we stick to schedule, we should be able to do a few test broadcasts before the end of the week.” He frowns. “Still have to ask Scipio to help put up that antenna. These kids are bright,” he nods at Sinjon and Lin, “but there’s a difference between digital know-how and more practical skills. And I’d do it myself, but Carol will hunt me down if I “strain myself”.” He does air quotes around the last two words.

“I’m actually on my way to see Scipio now,” I say. “Want me to pass on the message?”

He nods. “That’d be appreciated.” Then, he hesitates. “How are you, actually? With…”

“I’m fine,” I say. “We both are. And our bond is back, so.” I relive the relief again for a moment. “Thank the stars.”

_Hm? Did you say something?_

_…No?_

“Thank the stars indeed.” Ebrahim smiles. “Give my regards to Scipio.”

“I will.”

As expected, I find Scipio in the docks, on the Eleftheria’s roof.

“Hey, Scip!” I call.

“Percy! Could you grab me that screwdriver while you’re down there? The two point five. Thanks.”

I retrieve said screwdriver and climb onto the ship. Scipio’s sitting beside an opened panel, poured over the wires and bouts. He holds out his hand without looking up, focused, and uses the screwdriver to adjust one of the bouts. I try to see what he’s doing. I may spend a lot of time near this ship, but I’m not sure I’ll ever know it as well as Scipio does.

“That should do it.” He picks up a voltage meter and measures the electrical input he’s getting from the circuit he just fixed, then nods at the readings. “All fixed.” Then he looks up. “I have an assignment for you.”

“Oh?”

“Stop getting this ship shot at so much.”

I laugh, then rub my neck ruefully. “Ah. Well.”

“She was your father’s, you know. And he loved her almost as much as he loved his violin, and he loved his violin almost as much as he loved your mother.”

“So you’ve told me many times.”

It always gives me a curious feeling, hearing people talk about my father. A strange wistfulness, a longing for something I’ve never even known. Someone I was supposed to have in my life, but now all I know him by are his ship, his violin, and the stories I’m told about him.

Scipio’s gone quiet. He puts a hand on my shoulder and says quietly, “He’d be proud of you, you know that?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a wise thing to say so quickly after our scheme at the funeral? I might start to think you’re encouraging me.”

“I absolutely am not. I just meant…in general. Your parents would be proud of the person you’ve become.”

I hum vaguely. “Sap.”

He laughs. “Sorry. You just remind me a lot of him sometimes.”

I want to say something, but I have a lump in my throat.

Suddenly Scipio looks concerned. “As long as you don’t…” He shakes his head. “Ignore me. I must be getting old.”

“You’re _not_ old.”

 _I should wear those earrings tonight_ , I faintly hear Monty’s voice in my head.

_Hm?_

_Oh, what’s up, darling?_

_Did you say something?_

_No?_

_Something about earrings?_

_Oh. Huh. Did I say that to you? I didn’t mean to._

_Okay. See you at lunch?_

_Yeah, I’m on my way now._

“Hey, Scip, I’m going to–” I look up, only to find him staring at me. “What?”

“You were glowing, a moment ago.”

“Huh?”

He gives me a half smile. “Thought you only did that when you and Monty were together?”

“Normally, yes. I mean, I was talking to him.”

“Bond still acting weird, is it?”

I sigh. “It appears so.” I check the time on my communicator. “I’m going to grab lunch now, though. Are you coming?”

“Nah, still have some work here.”

“Alright.” I move toward the edge of the roof, but then turn around. “Oh, right—Ebrahim asked if you could help out with that antenna for the radio.”

“I’ll drop by later today.”

“Thanks!”

I run into Sinjon and Lin on my way to the cafeteria and listen as they go back and forth about their plans for the channel. Technical details and broadcasting programs and ways to stay under the Empire’s radar, and channel names and the most important information to get out there.

“They made a good call picking you for this project,” I say.

They smile at me.

“You know, you and Monty should be on the show when it’s up and running,” Sinjon says. “I’m sure lots of people all over the galaxy want to hear from you.”

“You think?”

“Well, yes. You’re symbols now.”

“We…huh.”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Lin says.

“‘Course not. I’ll mention it to Monty.”

In the hallway outside the cafeteria it’s more crowded, with lots of chattering. Still, I get pulled out of my thoughts by a dramatic gasp and a very loud, “ _Darling!_ ”

I look up and see Monty on the other end, flanked by Esmee, Jeanne, and Felicity. I grin. He runs toward me and I meet him halfway. I lift him off the ground and spin him around before kissing him.

“Almost losing your bond made you more attached, has it?” I hear Lin ask behind us.

“No,” Esmee says, also catching up. “They’re always like this.”

I take Monty’s hand and we walk into the hall, only to be stopped in the doorway when Jeanne and Esmee jump in front of us. I roll my eyes and exchange a smile with Monty.

Jeanne clears her throat. “Now announcing,” she calls, “Henry Montague, rebel hero, pain in the Crown and Cleaver’s ass, who spent over thirty minutes this morning waxing poetically about Percy Newton’s eyes.”

Some people look up, but most of them are used to it by now.

“You did?” I ask, amused.

Monty’s cheeks color. “It was not thirty minutes.”

“You’re right,” Jeanne says, “it was closer to forty, but I thought I’d spare you.”

Since they found out about Monty being—well—Henry Montague, Jeanne and Esmee have taken up the habit of formally announcing him when he walks into a room to make fun of him. Initially they used his actual former title, but after a while Monty admitted he didn’t like that, so ever since they’ve been getting increasingly creative. A great many of these new titles refer to me.

Esmee goes to claim a table while the rest of us grabs something to eat. When we sit down, several people glare at us. Those at the next table actually up and leave.

Monty frowns, already chewing. “That’s just sad. What is this, high school?”

“Looks like our days of being the popular kids are over,” Jeanne says, putting down her tray.

“I don’t think we ever were the popular kids,” I remark.

“No, you’re right, that was just you.”

I almost laugh. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve been the rebellion’s darling since you were born.”

“He’s certainly my darling,” Monty contributes.

“I still don’t see what you mean,” I say to Jeanne.

“Well, let’s see.” Esmee sits up, looking amused, and starts counting on her fingers. “You’ve been here since you were a baby, you’re Scipio’s protege, you and the Commodore’s daughter act like siblings—where is Sim, anyway?” She frowns, looking around.

“Some Crown and Cleaver business,” Felicity says vaguely.

“Anyway, you’re an ace pilot,” I snort at that, but she goes on, “and you’re always running about the place helping people.”

Monty presses his shoulder against mine. “I really have the best soulmate, don’t I.”

“You’re exaggerating,” I tell Esmee and Jeanne, who shrug at me. “Either way, even if I was, I’m definitely not anymore. Half of these people consider me a traitor.”

“For associating with us?” Felicity asks.

“I think mostly for associating with me,” Monty says. “Former Crown Prince, infiltrated the Crown and Cleaver, blew up a star, all that jazz.”

Felicity narrows her eyes. “I got into the rebellion’s systems too, and far more purposefully than you. And I was the Princess.”

“Yes, but you were only second in line.”

“I’d have gotten the throne in case of your untimely death.”

“Rooting for that, were you, Feli?”

Monty gets caught up bickering with his sister, so I turn to Esmee and Jeanne. “Anyway, what are you two up to today?”

“Not much,” Esmee says. “Oh! We were planning on watching a movie tonight, though. Wanna join us?”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“‘Course you wouldn’t.”

“Thank you, but I can’t.” I smile, a bit too brightly. “I have a date tonight.”

Instantly, Monty turns around. “Is that so, darling?”

I nod earnestly. “Yes, and I can’t stand him up. I love him too dearly.”

Monty leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Pray tell, who is this mystery man you’re seeing tonight?”

“Well, he is the most handsome man in a twelve quadrant radius for sure.” I sip from my drink. “He’s blond, and short, and he has these adorable dimples. Not only is he handsome, but he is very witty, and sweet, too.”

Monty presses the back of his hand to his forehead. “Ah! I shall then surrender my plans. Clearly I cannot compete with this incredible stranger.”

Felicity is glaring at us over her plate. “You two are insufferable.”

“Insufferable, yes,” Monty says, then adds in a sing-song voice, “insufferably in love.” At that, he pulls my face to him and kisses me extensively, eyeing his sister all the while. She makes a show out of looking away, gagging noises included. When we finally pull apart, I’m blushing like an idiot. Monty winks at me, then gets distracted by a message popping up on his communicator.

“If obnoxious public displays of affection were a crime, you’d both be spending your lives in jail,” Esmee says.

I’m about to retort, but Monty’s tugging at my arm, eyes still on the message he got. He’s beaming. “My new mask is done!”

Monty’s impatiently fiddling with his hands while we wait in the workshops. Finally, Miss Quick re-emerges from the back room, something metal in her hand. She eyes Monty being overly excited and suppresses a sigh. “Sit down.”

After several weeks of insisting they’d give him a weapon so he’d be useful at missions, Monty had been allowed to try out several in the training hall. After almost maiming three people, himself and me excluded, and burning down part of it, it had been decided he’d be better off with a different kind of tool. So we’d taken it down to the workshops and after several brainstorm sessions, a new mask was made.

Monty’s bouncing his leg as he watches Miss Quick make the final adjustments. Then she pushes his bangs aside and places the metal against his forehead. It clicks into place, forming a half-circle, with two parts going down his temples. Monty looks up at it. “So how does it work?”

“There’s an on and off switch on your right hand side.”

Monty feels around for it for a second. Then he presses it, and some kind of blur travels down over his face. I blink.

“How do I look?” he asks.

I squint. “I…don’t know.”

He’s looking perfectly ordinary. The metal band is gone, and his face looks normal, except…I wouldn’t be able to describe him, unless it’d be from memory.

“Huh,” I say. “This is _weird_.”

Miss Quick nods. “Yes, it’s functional. When that mask is activated, you’ll appear normal, but no one will be able to recognize you. Your face doesn’t change, the mask influences people’s perceptions.”

“Cool.” Monty presses the button again, and suddenly his face is familiar again. He starts fiddling with the band. “So how do I put it in my tattoo?”

Miss Quick has already turned her back, so I come closer. “I’m guessing it works the same as my shield?” Instinctively, I summon the gauntlet.

“Well, yes, but how does _that_ work?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t consciously thought about it in years.” I make the gauntlet disappear again. “You just…focus?”

“That’s incredibly vague.” Still, he closes his eyes, brow furrowing. “…Nothing’s happening.”

“Just…do what you do when you activate your tattoo.”

“Alright.” He concentrates again. This time, his tattoo lights up. The metal components of his mask click out of place and travel down his neck to disappear into the white light. Monty jumps to his feet. “Did you see that?”

I smile. “I did.”

“Alright, off you go now.” Miss Quick suddenly appears behind us again. “I haven’t got all day.” She shoos us out of her workshop. While we leave and walk the hallways, Monty keeps practicing summoning and hiding his mask.

“You’re right,” he says after a while, still with the biggest grin, “this is pretty instinctive.”

“Got the hang of it?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” He presses the on button and his face goes unrecognizable again, but not so that I can’t distinguish the devilish grin. “I’m going to scare the shit out of Felicity.”

“You torment your sister more than enough.”

“ _She_ torments _me_. I’m the victim here.”

I put an arm around his shoulders and pull him to me. “Sure, love.”

We walk in silence for a while, Monty mostly reading messages on his communicator and me making sure he doesn’t run into anything. I see an alarm pop up in my peripheral, and Monty stops. “Oh, shit, is that the time?”

“Hm?”

“My appointment’s in five minutes. Gotta run!” He stands on his toes to kiss me. “Love you. See you tonight!”

“See you tonight!” I call after him.

I keep walking, a hint of a smile still on my lips. I notice my veins are faintly glowing but I don’t mind. It’s a reminder of our bond, alive and real, that I carry with the beating of my heart.

Progress in Monty and I's relationship has been…anything but linear. Not in a bad way—we're just figuring things out at our own pace. Some days that means stumbling steps forward, others leaps ahead, and other days still a painful tumble backward that will scrape your elbows and knees. 

But it’s been going all right—not that I have anything to compare it to. Monty, though…Monty has _experience_ . He really knows what he’s doing, and he knows how easily that flusters me. He knows all my weaknesses—the careless flirtations tossed in my direction, the casual touches, the way he’ll drag me down by the front of my shirt so he can kiss me, how he likes watching me melt when he plays with my hair, every _darling_.

I, however, am not completely defenseless against the complete and utter whirlwind that is Henry “Monty” Montague. He has a weakness too, and that weakness is sincerity. It’s almost becoming a game to me—finding just the right timing for a meant compliment, a kiss on his nose, a genuine “I love you”, and watching that confident bastard that thinks I’m at his mercy be reduced to a blushing and stuttering mess.

I think it’s only fair. I’m fighting fire with fire here.

But truthfully, it’s been nice. After a lifetime sharing a soul I hadn’t thought there was still so much to learn about him, but there is; all his little mannerisms and nervous tics, all his whims and patterns, every shift of tone in his voice. And every day, every time I learn something new, I fall in love with him all over again, in a million different ways.

His heart still does a little skip every time I call him my boyfriend.

I realize I’ve been standing in front of an open door for a few minutes. My smile fades. I wasn’t consciously aware I was headed here, but I’ve walked this route so often it feels like muscle memory at this point. I bite my lip.

Might as well.

I step inside.

The memorial room is located at the front of the ship. It spans several floors, with its long hallways following the outer edge of the ship and its big windows looking out over the solar system. I stop to look outside first, as I always do. On my left, I can see the sun, with two spots blocked out where the base’s moons pass by. Farther away I can see our nearest planet, and behind that an endless sky of distant nebulas and even more distant stars. It’s magnificent.

I walk past the rows of plaques, four above each other and a seemingly infinite amount in every direction. I spent a lot of my time as a kid memorizing the names on them, the dates, and the inscriptions—though I haven’t a clue who three quarters of them are, and maybe that’s for the best.

The Crown and Cleaver’s philosophy about the memorial room being at the prow is that we should let those who we’ve lost guide us. That we should always remember them, who they were, what they stood for, what made them happy. That we should honor the sacrifices they made so that we could one day liberate the galaxy.

 _I don’t doubt these people were prepared to dedicate their lives to the rebellion_ , I always think without meaning to. _But how many of them were prepared to die?_

I stare at my parents’ graves for a long time in perfect silence. I suppress a sigh. Finally, I let myself slink down against the wall. “Hi,” I whisper quietly.

I’m not entirely sure when or why I started doing it. Maybe because of the many hours I spent here as a kid. Maybe because of something Scipio told me that I never forgot; that nothing entirely new is ever created, and that nothing ever entirely goes away—that we’re all made of stardust, in the end, and that after we die, that stardust returns to the universe. That nothing’s ever truly gone.

Dr. Cillen had said once that perhaps I was struggling to find closure because I have nothing to find closure _on_. I’m not sure I need any. I’ve never known them, not like Scipio, who was friends with my father, or any of the other rebels who’ve actually met them.

I’m related to them by blood but nothing else.

“Scipio mentioned you today,” I go on. No one’s around, but I still whisper. I’d be mortified if anyone found out. Not even Monty knows where I go at hours like these.

“He said you’d be proud of me. He said that I remind him of you sometimes, …dad.” I rub a hand over my face. “I don’t even know if I’d call you that. I don’t know what your voices sounded like. I don’t really know anything about you. I d…” I pause, suddenly struggling with the words. I lean my head back against the window’s cool glass. “So how am I supposed to know what kind of person you’d want me to become?

“I want to believe him,” I continue. “It’s tempting. And surely he’d know? I mean, he only knew you for a year, but…” I shut my eyes. “In the end it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

I fall quiet. As always comes to pass, I get self conscious about essentially talking to myself, so instead I take out my violin. I put the instrument under my chin and play some pieces I’ve been practicing on for the free podium night that’s coming up. When I’m done with those, I improvise—sad, slow notes that reverberate in the empty halls, an orchestra of echoes.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when I finally put the instrument down. I find I can’t look at the plaques anymore. Instead I check the time on my communicator, as I’d do to get out of a situation or place I didn’t want to be in, and instantly feel bad over it.

“I have to go now.” I’m caught off guard by how wobbly my voice sounds. I start putting my violin away in its case and store it in my tattoo. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor as I get up. “I have a date tonight.”

And with that, I leave, my heart feeling as heavy as a star.

Monty’s ten minutes late. I’m sitting on a chair in the waiting room, texting Sim, when the door finally opens.

Monty smiles at me. His eyes are red from crying—they often are after a session—but I never mention it, and neither does he. My veins light up when I smile back at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that stardust in your veins or are you just happy to see me?”

“Yes.” I get up and kiss him. “Hi, darling. How are you feeling?”

He scoffs. “Ugh. Not you too.”

I laugh. “Sorry.” I take a step back, and offer him the flower I’d been hiding behind my back. “For my date.”

Monty’s mouth falls open, and he starts to blush. “Oh, you sap.” He takes the flower from me. “I still have to change, though. I look like a mess.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Always. But right now I am…” He vaguely gestures at himself. “A beautiful mess.”

“That you are, darling.”

After nearly fifteen minutes, Monty knocks on the door signaling I can enter again. I’m about to complain right until I see him.

Monty’s taken to experimenting with his fashion style. It’s a delight to watch: some of his outfits may be horrendous, but when he wears them, he beams. And he looks really good in most of them. He’s definitely looking wonderful right now.

He spins around. “What do you think?”

He’s wearing his shooting star earrings, a pair of high-waisted white pants under a black blouse with essentially no back, putting the dimples in his shoulders on full display, and I am very, very gay.

He catches onto how flustered I’m getting, and grins. “What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?”

As stated previously, my love is a bastard.

Calling this a _date night_ is mostly for the dramatics of it. We’d just agreed to spend it in our room, and Monty would do my nails. So that’s how we find ourselves on my bed, Monty between my legs and my chin on his shoulder, as I watch him re-do his own nails first. He’s been painting and re-painting them in the bi flag colors for a few weeks, and every time someone compliments him on them, he won’t stop grinning for an hour.

He starts with my right hand. He won’t tell me what he’s planning, but after he’s painted one nail red and the next orange, it isn’t hard to guess. I press a kiss to his shoulder.

Right when he’s dug up the yellow nail polish from his tattoo—he’s been using it to store an absolutely insane amount of useless trinkets—he falters. “Percy,” he says quietly.

I hum in response.

“There’s…There’s something I have to say first.” He half turns around but keeps his eyes downcast. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Sorry I dragged you along in my plan at the funeral.” I want to interrupt him, but he presses on, “It was a terrible idea and you told me so but I insisted on it anyway. And it got us hurt. So…” He shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

I study him for a while as he turns the bottle over in his hands. Then I place a finger to his chin and turn his face toward me. “Apology accepted. If,” I add, “you’ll let me apologize for going into that box without thinking.”

Monty smiles, a soft, private thing. “Of course.”

We kiss, gently, until I raise my right hand to cup his cheek and Monty bats me away so I don’t ruin his work. He settles back against me and starts with the yellow nail polish.

“I’m glad I didn’t chicken out of that,” he says, relaxing a bit. “I wanted to say it, after Dr. Cillen and I talked about the funeral today, but, you know. Sincerity. Talking about feelings. Blegh.”

I laugh softly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you. God, if I’d known therapy was so much work, I’m not sure I’d have started on it.” He stops. “No, that’s a lie. I’m glad I started, and I feel like it’s helping. It just gets a bit… _much_ sometimes, you know?”

I hum vaguely. I’m a little bit on edge, since we don’t normally talk about this. What Monty discusses with Dr. Cillen is none of my business. I have fairly little experience with therapy myself. When I was little, Dr. Cillen talked to me a handful of times about how I felt having lost my parents when I was so young—and when Monty started therapy, I’d been asked to come in as well, for just one session. Dr. Cillen told me that when one soulmate started therapy, the other usually did too. Xe’d explained that because of the strong bond they shared, soulmates always shared each other’s burdens. But I’d said that I was fine—which I am—and just requested xe’d look after Monty well.

Xe had said it was an open offer.

“Sometimes I’m just tired of recounting my own past and going _hey, maybe that was kinda fucked up_ every five minutes.” He smiles absently. “Sorry. I’m just rambling.”

“I don’t mind.”

“This was supposed to be a date, and now it’s the _Monty And His Issues Show_ again.”

I actually laugh at that, then kiss the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m done. Let’s talk about you instead. What were you doing while I was, quote unquote, _getting traumatized_?”

I stop at that.

I feel Monty’s heart dropping. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m not…I’m not used to talking about this yet. I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” I quickly say. “Talk about what you want. It just caught me off guard.”

“Hmm. Still, we’re talking about you now. What were you doing when you weren’t pining after me? Pining after someone else, perhaps?”

I laugh at the mere thought. “God, no. Why would I do that?”

Monty sounds a bit petulant. “I did that.”

“You and I are very different people, love.”

“But we didn’t meet until we were eighteen.” Monty takes my hand again and starts painting my pinkie nail blue. “You must’ve been doing something all those years.”

“Learning how to fly a spaceship? Practicing the violin? Pining after you?”

“You flatter me. Still, I find that hard to imagine. I’ve seen some pretty cute rebels around here. You _must’ve_ felt attracted to some of them at some point.”

“I haven’t, though.”

“Suuure.”

“I mean it. You know how it’s different for me.”

“Different how?”

In that moment I suddenly realize that he does not, in fact, know, as I’ve neglected to tell him.

“Percy?”

I clear my throat awkwardly. “Sorry. I’d forgotten I hadn’t told you yet.”

He stills, brush hovering over my nail. “Told me what?”

“It isn’t that big of a deal.” I try to wave it away but Monty takes my hand again, muttering something about not ruining the polish, and twines his fingers with mine. Ah, fuck, I’ve made a big deal out of it now. “It really isn’t,” I stress again. “I just…” I sigh. “I’m demisexual.”

Monty stills. “Oh,” he says eventually.

“Do you…know what that means?”

“Sure!” he starts off, then stops himself with a sigh. “No.”

“That’s okay.” I smile. “It just means that I’m on the asexuality spectrum and–”

“Wait. _Wait_.” He whips around, looking shocked. I immediately go red. “You’re asexual?”

“Yeah?”

He’s feeling mortified, though I cannot for the life of me figure out why. I’m starting to panic a bit myself, if I’m being honest. Still, he forces a smile. “That’s great!” he says. “Good for you, Perce.”

“Why are you so freaked out about this?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“What? I’m not freaked out.” He tries to look enthusiastic but instead ends up grimacing. “Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not! This is great, I just, uh–” Something seems to hit him. “I. Fuck. I’m really sorry about all those comments, Perce, if I’d known—no, that’s no excuse, I should’ve asked—it’s just that you’re so handsome and I love you very much! And I’d totally have liked to sleep with you but that’s okay! We don’t have to! It’s fine.” He laughs awkwardly. “Better than fine. Everything is okay and–”

“Monty.” This time I do cup his cheeks with both hands. He’s looking so worried it’s almost comical. I press a kiss to his lips, then brush his nose with mine. “I do want to have sex with you, someday.”

He looks confused. “But you said…”

“ _Asexual_ is kind of a broad term. It covers…basically anything that isn’t experiencing attraction like “normal”. I’m demisexual, which means I can only be attracted to people I already feel strongly about—platonically, I guess—basically, there’s got to be an emotional connection first.” I touch my nose to his again. “And I’ve never felt as close to anyone as I feel to you.”

I watch him as he lets that sink in for a moment. “Oh,” he says after a while, voice cracking a bit.

I smile. “You were prepared to take up celibacy for my sake?”

He huffs. “Obviously.”

“I’m touched.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

I run a hand through his hair, letting it trail down his jawline. “And I for you.”

We kiss for a while, until Monty sits me back down and starts rummaging through his tattoo again. A pile of very random artefacts winds up on my bed, until he finds more bottles of nail polish. He starts on my left hand.

“…While we’re on the subject,” I say.

“Hmm?”

“Sex.”

“Oh.” He half turns around to grin wickedly at me. “Do you want to, darling? Because I’m absolutely down for that but we _will_ wait until your nails have dried.”

I huff a laugh. “I don’t mean _right now_ ,” and Monty whines for the drama of it, “I just mean…soon, maybe? I know I’ve made you wait for a long time.”

“No issue at all, darling.”

Thanks to our bond I however know that that’s an untrue statement, and he knows it. Still, I continue, “I just feel that…with the Empire’s new plans, everything is about to start happening a lot. So before our worlds get torn to pieces again, I’d want to have this? With you?”

Monty doesn’t respond right away. He’s working with white nail polish now. “I can’t decide if that’s sad or sweet.”

“I don’t mean to sound pessimistic,” I say. “I just feel like it might be a good time.” Some nerves rack through me. “If you want to.”

“Percy, who do you take me for? _Of course_.” He goes shy again. “When did you have in mind?”

It suddenly feels very formal, setting a date for it. I almost pull my hand back. “I don’t know. Let’s wait and see if we still have all our limbs attached after the next mission, and then we’ll figure something out?”

“That works.”

We fall quiet again for a bit, until Monty sits up. “Behold.”

He shows me my hand, the nails painted in black, grey, white, and purple. He doubled up the grey.

“You did them in the ace flag colors,” I say, surprised.

He gives me a half smile. “Do you like it?”

Instead of answering, I kiss him, pressing him into the mattress, but always staying careful not to mess up my nails. After several minutes, I pull back and say, “I love them.”

I wake up in bed, and Monty isn’t there.

For a terrible moment, panic overtakes me. I sit up, kicking aside the sheets—the room is dark but Monty’s nowhere to be seen. Where has he–? Did we–? Is he–?

I force myself to focus on my heartbeat, and find that I can still feel him. I lie back, sighing in relief.

It hits me how tired I am. I check the time on my communicator—three in the morning. Christ. What’s he up to at this hour?

I wait a few minutes to make sure he hasn’t just gone to the bathroom, then I force myself out of bed. I put on the nearest pair of shoes I can find—not entirely sure they’re a pair—then pick up one of the extra blankets we keep around and drape it over my shoulders. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, then, start following my inner compass through the base.

By the time I reach the floor he’s on, I realize where he must be. I creep through the hallways, half asleep, until I find light pouring out of a doorway.

I find him on a chair at the very end of a long table, in front of a board that takes up the entire wall. This is a meeting room, originally, but as we have plenty of those, Monty’s claimed this one for his plans.

 _The Mines_ , it says, in big letters at the center. Around it are floor plans and blueprints and guard schedules, and images and footage from recent surveillance, and lists of technology we know they use and time tables for new arrivals, with sticky notes full of scribbles in between. It’s massive.

Monty doesn’t look up when I enter. He’s in his nightshirt, with my jacket over it, and barefoot. He’s chewing on the back of a pen, focus unwavering on the board in front of him.

“Hey, darling,” I say through a sigh, as I sit down on the table beside him.

Monty glances at me with a tired smile. “Hey.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He turns his face back to the board, then sighs. “No. I just started thinking and I didn’t want to wake you up, so…”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I would have.”

I hum. “Any new mid-night insights?”

He shakes his head, and tosses the pen aside. “Nothing.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been going over what we have again and again, and nothing works. If we’d have…something _new_. Maybe if we could steal some documents, or if we could get… _inside_ _information_.” He raises a hand to accentuate his words, then rests his elbow on the table and presses his fingertips to his temple. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll find a way,” I say.

Monty rests his head against my knee, and I put my hand in his hair. “I had a nightmare,” he says quietly.

Monty has been getting more honest lately about what’s going on inside his head. I know it’s not easy for him. I try to support him, but truthfully, sometimes I’m at a loss at how to handle all of it, and that terrifies me.

“You know. The Mines.” He shrugs. “I can’t leave those people there, Percy.”

“We will get them out,” I say. I take his hand. “I promise.”

Monty rubs his thumb along my knuckles in silence for a while. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

“Are you coming back to bed with me?”

He sighs. “All right.”

Once we’re settled in bed, Monty’s still tense. I try to get him to mellow by pressing soft kisses to his jaw and neck. It at least makes him smile.

But I can feel the weight of the burdens he carries and how, more often than not, their weight holds him down. When shadows of the past creep in and anxieties about the future catch up and threaten to pull him under.

Some days it still feels like it’s just me protecting Monty against the universe.

“Can I say something weird?” I whisper.

“Of course, darling.”

I sigh and close my eyes. “Sometimes…Sometimes I wish I could do it all in your place. Carry it all so you don’t have to.”

I can’t instantly name the emotion blooming through him. I open my eyes and find him looking at me in…wonder? Love?

“That’s not weird,” he whispers back, “that’s just really sweet.”

“I mean it.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too good for this galaxy?”

I huff. “You’re only the second person today.”

I pull him closer to me and he settles his head on my shoulder, finally relaxing. “I love you,” he murmurs.

I kiss his forehead. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
